Above and Beyond
by ThiessenClocks
Summary: The team's mission is accomplished and they're on their way home. But the man they have in custody has other plans. (A Skye&Connor mission set before Dunn and Dusted, hence a lot of OCs) (Rated T for violence and some language)
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: To avoid misunderstandings, I want to issue a disclaimer before the story begins. The main characters of this story are my own characters, but familiar faces like Benji, Luther, Brassel and Yusuf still show up. (Remember Yusuf? "This would be a cinch if I could call Yusuf back at HQ" from GP? I felt he deserved being in a story.)_

 _Time-wise, this is set in 2008, before the events of Dunn and Dusted where Skye meets Benji._

 _I also feel obliged to mention the songs "Release" and especially "Dream" by Imagine Dragons, both of which I played non-stop while writing and to which I owe this story._

 _Finally, thanks as always to Ellster for beta-reading. Now let's get on with it._

* * *

For Charlie and his love of flying objects, known and unknown alike.

* * *

 **Above and Beyond**

Transcript of Radio Protocols

US Military Base Groom Lake

2008-03-11 09-32AM

0932 Mayday mayday mayday, is anyone receiving? Flight N216, mayday mayday mayday.

0933 This is Ground Control, you are entering airspace of restricted Area 4808 North, you are not cleared to approach. Over.

0933 November 216 calling mayday mayday mayday, inbound for emergency landing. Over.

0933 216, ident. Over.

0933 Unable to comply. Aircraft is a Cessna 680.

0933 We are authorised to use deadly force if you do not comply. Over.

0933 We are losing altitude rapidly and the ident button has taken a bullet. Over.

0934 216, say again?

0934 I said we are losing altitude rapidly, sinking speed too high, instruments failing. Over.

0934 Stand by.

0934 [incomprehensible] Ground Control, requesting immediate assistance, landing conditions not ideal.

0935 Ground Control, please respond.

0935 We have wounded aboard. I repeat, we have

0936 N216, come in. Over.

0936 Ground Control calling November 216, please respond. Over.

0937 216, do you copy?

-Transmission confirmed lost at 0938AM PST

-Transcript cleared for destruction


	2. Chapter 2

"Really, I can do it." Skye Holt boarded the specially commissioned Cessna Citation Sovereign last. She heard the two bangs on the outer hull as their Los Angeles contact patted the plane goodbye. She waved briefly through the window as the airstair was pulled away.

"You already flew us out of Peking," her team leader, Megan Laurie, remarked.

"How come you always get the continental flights?" the younger woman complained smiling and made herself comfortable in the co-pilot's seat.

"Not today, honey. You've been up all night. You'll do the takeoff with me and then you sleep," Megan said. "End of story."

"I can do it," Skye persisted.

"I said end of story. I'll wake you for the landing." Megan pulled her headphones on and adjusted the mic. "ATC, this is Flight N216, we're in position and ready."

"My favourite part," Skye said ironically.

"Remember your training," Megan smiled fondly.

Skye smiled back. "Best lesson I've ever been taught."

Megan checked the read-out to make sure the engines were heating up synchronously.

"Casey, you okay back there?" she called and tied her black braids into a thick ponytail.

"Secured," came the brief response from their third team member, who was in charge of their captive.

"Buckle up," Meg told him.

Skye looked over her shoulder. An alcove in the back of the plane had been outfitted to resemble a holding cell, albeit smaller than a non-plane counterpart. It was currently holding Calvin Asher, formerly known as Agent Asher. That was, until he went off the rails and made a deal with a shady Chinese faction to sell everything he knew about the IMF. Now they were on their way back to Washington D.C. where he was going to face trial.

Asher sat strapped into his seat, staring vacantly ahead, handcuffed wrists in his lap.

"Ready, Scandi?" Megan looked over at her young co-pilot.

It was the white-blond hair that had earned her the nickname. Opposite ends of the colour spectrum, Megan tended to joke about the odd pair the two of them made. The only thing missing were blue eyes and Skye would have completed the Scandinavian cliché, but her eyes were light brown verging on green in the sunlight. Laurie had conducted the Danish agent's flight training herself, for both planes and helicopters, and was more than happy with the outcome. She put on her sunglasses against the L.A. sun, pushed them far up on her flat nose, which had been broken once, on another mission long ago. The sunlight lent her dark skin an almost bluish tint.

Skye looked back ahead at the runway. "As I'll ever be, Megster."

"Now you start with that, too," she chuckled, when the crackling announcement from the tower came through. "N216, cleared for takeoff."

"Cleared for takeoff, N216," Megan acknowledged, then she and Skye fell silent in order not to miss further transmissions during the critical phase.

This was the best part. Skye felt the plane gaining speed, the engines whirred loudly and then they were already in the air, gaining height fast and steady.

Skye monitored if they were climbing at a stable rate, adjusted the frequency while Megan checked back with the Air Traffic Control that the runway had been cleared. The city shrank away beneath them. They retracted the wheels and eventually got the craft horizontal again. The tingly feeling in Skye's chest receded.

"I take it from here," Laurie decided.

"Five more minutes," Holt tried to reason.

"Don't make me drag you outta that seat," the pilot warned. "I need you fresh for our landing."

"Fine," Skye gave in, donned her headset and unbuckled her seat belt.

The Cessna was small, so the cockpit wasn't separate from the passenger area. Skye simply passed between her and Meg's seat and sat down on the seat next to Jake Casey, with her back to Asher's compartment.

He was playing nervously with the key to the handcuffs.

"Not good with takeoffs?" Skye asked sympathetically.

"Mh?" Casey looked up as if he only now noticed her.

Skye took off her sunglasses and put them on the side table in front of her before she lowered her seat enough to lie down. "I thought that went rather smooth," she smiled. She didn't understand why he had to make it so awkward at times. So they had kissed that one time, big deal.

"Oh, yeah," he said. "Good job." He turned away from her, looked out of the window.

Skye sighed, then leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. The hum of the engines was so soothing that it took only a few minutes for her exhaustion from the previous night to take over, then she was asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

The Cessna was flying at an altitude of about four kilometres when it hit turbulences. Briefly, the craft seemed to fall before Megan caught them and restored their position in a routine manoeuvre.

This however caused Skye to wake up hardly an hour into their flight to Washington. It also caused former Agent Cal Asher to take a step forward in order to retain his balance, which in turn meant his arm moved about an inch forward. Topping off the chain reaction, the gun in his hand made contact with Holt's right temple.

Skye didn't understand how he had gotten out of either the sealed-off alcove nor his handcuffs, much less obtained a weapon. But the feeling of cold barrel-steel on her forehead made her re-evaluate her priorities. While her left hand reached for the seat-belt to allow her free movement, her right hand already shot forward to secure Asher's wrist. He cocked the gun, but Skye managed to jump up in time, divert his arm and the shot his the ceiling.

"The fuck is going on back there?" Laurie shouted when the weapon went off.

Without even a second of hesitation, Asher fired his gun another three times.

Skye registered the sound, Asher's motion of pulling the trigger, and then Casey's shout. The next moment, she was lying on the floor, having missed hitting her head on the side table by inches. Casey had pushed her out of the way, and was now holding her down.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Asher said, stressing the 'you', half angry, half disappointed. He had to duck slightly since he was taller than the cabin was high.

"This wasn't our agreement!" Jake shouted back.

Asher just laughed, but Holt had recovered from her shock. "Casey, what's he talking about? How did he get out?" She started putting up a struggle, but her position was adverse. She couldn't see Megan. "Let go of me," she said angrily.

Asher spoke up in his place, "She's cute, isn't she?" He wasn't laughing anymore. "Nothing money can't buy, sweetheart. Especially when it comes to people."

Disbelieving, the Dane looked at Casey. He refused to meet her eyes, and his grip loosened. Fury welled up in her. In a matter of seconds she had reached to his hip and got hold of his side-arm, her knee impacted on his stomach, sending him rolling on his side. The next moment, Skye was on her feet and aiming at Asher. "Drop your weapon."

Before either of them could react further, the plane drastically swerved to the right. Skye stumbled and just managed to steady herself on one of the seats, while Casey rolled into the middle aisle. Asher fell sidewise onto another seat, gasped and another shot fired from his direction.

Casey screamed, and curled up even more.

It took Holt way too long to understand what had happened, but then it came all at once in one avalanche of comprehending. The first shot had missed her because Casey had dragged her to the floor, but it had hit Megan. Skye could see her now. The woman had fallen forward across the yoke and had dragged it to one side. The plane, subsequently, had mimicked the movement and turned sharply to the right, now continuing in a wide spiral. Skye hurled back around, and pulled the trigger.

Despite the unplanned turbulences, the bullet went where she wanted it, straight through Asher's shoulder. He screamed and dropped the gun, before sagging to the floor himself.

The plane was shaking, and the sharp contrast to their calm gliding through the air just minutes earlier was terrifying.

"Meg," Skye said determinedly, crouching next to her seat. "Megan, can you hear me?"

The pilot still had a hand on her neck where the bullet had hit, but she had lost consciousness.

Skye pulled her up by the shoulders, away from the steering. Her mind was racing. She had to get her out of the seat and get the plane back up, also stop the bleeding and get her to wake up, at the same time get Asher under control without killing him. And not die in the process. Too many things.

"I'm... sorry," Jake hissed on the floor. His eyelids were flickering rapidly, his breathing was heavy and rattling. He was clutching his abdomen, but blood was seeping through his jacket and already drenched the carpet. The stray bullet had hit home, too.

The plane shook precariously. Skye grabbed the yoke with one hand. Let go of the gun or of Megan?

Too many things.

Skye diverted her attention again. She kept her voice clear but it sounded too loud in her ears. "Jake, look at me!"

"I never meant to hurt you," he rasped.

"Shut up and look at me, I need you here, okay?"

Instead, for the second time this morning, Skye felt a gun at her forehead. Asher was holding his shoulder, but otherwise seemed remarkably unfazed. "You can fly this thing?"

Skye looked at him with all the unmasked hatred in her eyes.

Asher didn't miss a beat and lowered the gun, now aiming at Casey's head. "Get us back up or he gets it."

"Don't," Casey coughed up blood.

"And drop the gun."

Skye straightened and did what he said. It was difficult to keep her balance in the askew conditions, but he had one point, this plane needed to be brought under control or they would all bite the dust, quite literally. She wasn't allowed to feel overchallenged now. This could still be fixed.

She swallowed her emotions. "Hold on, Jake, okay? You're gonna be fine." Without bothering to move slowly she turned back to Megan, very aware of Asher next to her.

"Megan, I need you to wake up," she tried and unbuckled her seatbelt, but before she could get Agent Laurie upright, Asher dragged the pilot backwards by her collar. He fired two more rounds into the Meg's unconscious form sprawled over the instruments, and then dragged her out of the seat.

He turned back to Holt. "Get us back up." He pronounced every word very clearly.

Skye forced herself to stop trembling. She could smell the gunpowder in the air. She swallowed hard, then climbed into the seat and wiped the blood of the altimeter. They were way too low.

Taking over the plane, she went into team leader mode. "Give me her headphones."

"Why?" Asher was still aiming the gun at her, steadying himself against the co-pilot's seat. They were fast. _Really_ fast.

" _Because_ I need to call for help!"

He laughed. "You're not gonna call anyone. You're gonna divert us to Mexico."

"Look, I don't know if you've noticed, but this plane is going down!" she shouted. She stole a glance at him and could almost see the gears in his head turning. No time for that now. "We're way too low already, we are going to crash no matter what, it's only a question of whether we'll be alone in the desert or if there will be someone there to find us, now give me the fucking headphones!"

He gave in, yanked the bulky thing off from around Laurie's neck without much care, and handed it to Skye.

The agent tried to ignore her friend's blood on it as she put it on and pulled the mic down to send a signal. "Mayday mayday mayday, anyone, come in." Her voice was clear and sober. She repeated the call several times.

The plane had been manoeuvred out of the spiral course, but was still unresponsive to trying to pull it back up, and the velocity rush was killing her, but she would never show weakness in front of Asher.

"Asher, I need you to get to a seat and buckle up," she called out. Before he could respond, she added, "No one is answering and we're going down fast, get in the back!"

As much as she disliked turning her back on someone with a loaded gun, she needed him alive. If they survived this, he would pay for what he'd done, she would see to that.

Apparently she had managed to get through to him, because he disappeared from her side without a word. A crashing plane has a way of making people listen to their pilot.

"Mayday mayday mayday, is anyone receiving?" she said again, not allowing despair to enter her voice. "Flight N216, mayday mayday mayday."

The ground was coming nearer with breathtaking speed. Tears entered her eyes. She had never landed a plane like this before, and she wasn't sure if –

"This is Ground Control," a voice suddenly rang through her head.

Skye's eyes widened in relief. Somebody was receiving, meaning somebody was in reach, meaning she could do this.

"You are entering air space of Restricted Area 4808 North, you are not cleared to approach. Over," the voice continued.

Holt didn't have time for this. "November 216 calling mayday mayday mayday," she confirmed quickly, "inbound for emergency landing, over."

There was a brief silence filled with slight static noises, then finally, "216, ident. Over."

Skye exhaled deeply and reached for the ident button, but it wasn't there anymore. "Unable to comply. Aircraft is a Cessna 680-"

The reply came immediately. "We are authorised to use deadly force if you do not comply. Over."

Oh, this was fucking great. "We are losing altitude rapidly and the ident button has taken a bullet. Over!" she all but shouted.

Again, silence for a couple of seconds. Skye was about to call them again, when the reply came. "216, say again?"

"I _said_ , we are losing altitude rapidly," she repeated, fully aware that that was not what he wanted to hear. "Sinking speed too high, instruments failing, over."

Again, the other side took their time. Then, "Stand by."

Skye gasped. " _Det er sgu da løgn_ ," she cursed, losing her patience and getting increasingly more anxious in face of the looming impact. Then she continued, speaking as fast and clearly as she could. "Ground Control! Requesting immediate assistance, landing conditions not ideal." That being the understatement of the century, she swallowed her fury. They were seriously not responding. By now she could make out details on the ground, even though it mainly consisted of rocky desert terrain, and realised she had to do this on her own. She pressed the button to extend the wheels, praying they would survive the velocity, prepared herself to hit the ground.

"Ground Control, please respond," she tried again, but no one cared to answer. They were ditching her. They were seriously ditching her. Skye's fingers tightened around the steering, trying in vain to flatten the plane's angle at least a bit more. One last try, before impact, she thought. Maybe they would get Casey out, maybe he still had a chance. "We have wounded aboard," she shouted into the mic, seconds away from the ground. "I repeat, we have-"

The plane hit bottom at way too much speed. She could feel the wheels being torn away below her, metal groaned and complained along with her head which was tossed back against the seat, but the velocity still wouldn't stop. Skye's headphones flew off and landed on the floor. The whole body of the aircraft kept sliding for what felt like hours. The noise was unbearable, impossible to pinpoint what it was she was hearing or where all the roaring was coming from. Something impacted somewhere to her left, and Skye suddenly felt wind and the cabin re-pressurising itself. There was more light as well, hot sunlight hitting her skin. The ffollowing shudder made everything tremble, the plane that used to feel so solid and safe shifted achingly to one side and left everything tumbling to the right as if they were spiralling downwards all over again.

And then, finally, it stopped.


	4. Chapter 4

"Consolidated Insurance, how can I help you?" Madison Freeley chirped when she took the call at IMF Headquarters, specifically the department for Extractions.

The programme on her computer automatically traced the call, zoomed in on a map and displayed the location of its as somewhere in southern Nevada. The signal was different than usual, zoning in on a beacon instead of a phone. Next, a loading bar appeared, counting up to one hundred percent in a matter of seconds.

A recorded message being transmitted. The time code from just five minutes ago.

At first, Freeley couldn't hear anything, just static and rustling, but when someone finally spoke, her eyes widened. She was an agent herself, sitting out her shifts in Extractions until she was cleared for field work again after a sustained injury, and used to extreme situations and weird Extraction calls accordingly. Still, this wasn't your everyday call.

Quickly, Agent Freeley redialled. "Hello? I need to speak to the director."

/\/\/\/\

Suddenly, everything was dead-quiet.

Agent Holt never really blacked out, much to her dismay. Her ears were ringing and she felt as if she had been thrown into a kitchen blender, along with a couple of rocks. She wasn't entirely sure whether there was something wrong with her eyes, or if there was smoke coming from the plane, or if it was dust from the impact that obscured the whole wind screen. She hoped it was the latter. If it was smoke, there could be fire, and if it reached the tank and the fuel combusted she wouldn't have to worry about moving much longer.

Her hands were gripping the yoke so hard that she found it difficult to let go, and gave up after a couple of attempts. She tried to turn her head. It hurt. Meg was still lying face-down next to her, crammed between the auxiliary equipment and the co-pilot's seat. Hair braids had come loose. Bloody smears surrounded the floor around her. Skye had no illusions that she was still alive. She swallowed hard, which caused an unexpectedly painful pop in her ears. She tried to look around further, but her neck wasn't okay with that plan. She sharply sucked in air and returned to her initial position. The instruments in front of her shifted out of focus, and for a second everything went dead silent before the ringing returned again.

There was a sound. Behind her. Casey? Or Asher. If Asher was still on his feet he could shoot her any second and she wouldn't even be able to move. She tried again, and managed to unclench her fingers, but her hands just fell limply onto her lap.

The sound evolved into a humming, something that constituted serious competition for the ringing in her ears, coming nearer, and now Holt was almost sure it came from outside the plane. She blinked a couple of times, but her vision just got more blurry. A part of her wished she would just finally black out for good. She couldn't tell how much time passed like this.

Then everything happened at once. There was a definite commotion behind her, something or someone moving, heavy steps reverberating through the fuselage. A shadow lowered itself over her face, dull voices shouted something she didn't understand. The next moment she wasn't in her seat anymore, but lying down, and something was moving, and it was warmer than before, although her skin felt like it consisted of goosebumps by now. A sleepy vibration somewhere beneath her almost made her doze off, then the air around her shifted back to almost cold, the lights changed to artificial, but the movement didn't stop. Just when Skye was sure she had worked out that the bright moving shapes above her must be neon lights, she finally closed her eyes and was out of it.

/\/\/\/\

Director Brassel stared at the transcript in front of him. Particularly the line 'Nothing money can't buy, sweetheart. Especially when it comes to people.' To say it bothered him was a dangerous understatement. He felt personally offended. This simply wasn't allowed to turn into another Musgrave. Neither his career nor his nerves could take that.

He ignored the psychologist someone had brought in to analyse the recording. That was the thing about Calvin Asher, nobody knew why he was doing what he was doing. Not when he went to the Chinese, not now when he asked Holt to chauffeur him to Mexico. With John Musgrave there had at least been that vague dislike he could never justify completely. But Asher, in his professional opinion, had simply gone insane.

"What?" Director Brassel growled at the door when it opened.

Yusuf Orbay, recently declared head of IMF's tech department, shrank a bit. "You asked for an update from tech services, sir?"

"I have three agents presumed dead and one traitor presumed on the run, you better give me some good news."

"Well, for once we don't know if they're dead. Nor if Asher survived, so that would be the worst case scenario..." One glance from the director silenced him.

"Do we have _anything_?" he pronounced very clearly, exposing the narrow gap between his incisors.

"I pulled my best man out of field training to get us satellite images, we're still working on it but we'll soon have a visual of the crash site," Yusuf assured him.

Brassel looked more than unhappy. "Where is our closest agent?"

"Las Vegas, sir."

At least Orbay seemed to have done his homework. "Get in touch and tell him to get his ass over there now. We need an inside man."

"Yes, sir."

"And send a team of sweepers. We need that plane back. I'll be damned if they get any evidence. This crash never happened."

When Orbay had left his office, Brassel reached for the phone.


	5. Chapter 5

"Hey there. I'm Dr. Grey. And you are?"

It took a second for the words to be received. A few more to be understood.

"Come on, I know you can hear me."

Skye opened her eyes. A man was leaning over her, sporting a grey brush-cut and equally grey eyes. Had he said his name was Grey as well?

"Are you thirsty?"

She was, actually. She sat up stiffly and he motioned at a glass of water. Next to the bed a white curtain was drawn. To her left was a wall. There was no way of telling how big the room was. Still Skye nodded gratefully and drank. Her neck hurt when she tilted her head back, making her wince.

"Careful there. I'm sure you got whiplash after that landing."

"Dr. Grey you said?" She put the glass back. Her left hand was cuffed to the bed she was sitting on, but she decided to play it cool.

"That's right. Now how about you." He sounded like he didn't actually care, but was required to ask. Maybe he didn't care if he would get the truth, just wanted something to call her.

"My name is Skye Holt."

Behind the curtain she heard a door open and close. Someone had left the room.

"Skye?" He raised his bushy eyebrows and looked close to smiling, like she had made a joke.

She ignored him. "Where am I?"

"Sickbay."

 _Please, don't be so forthcoming,_ Skye thought, but bit back on the remark. "What about the others?"

"The woman was dead when we found her. So was one of the men," Grey said drily. He came closer and, to her surprise, unlocked her handcuffs. Then he added, "We found him outside of the plane, far off from your wreckage. There was nothing I could do."

Skye sorted through events in her head. Casey bleeding on the carpet. Asher dragging Meg out of her seat. A bloody altimeter. Falling. She felt dizzy. "And the third one?"

"He's doing quite well, considering the flesh wound on his shoulder. I got some fresh clothes for you."

That was it. Her team was dead, but Asher was bloody alive. It wasn't fair. "Where is he?"

"Close by." He looked at the woman with interest.

"You need to restrain him. He's dangerous."

"That's funny, 'cause he's saying the same thing about you. Speaking of which, you don't have to try anything with me, I'm armed and there's no leaving this room."

"He's lying."

"Same story, word for word." He chuckled humourlessly. "Can you turn your head?"

Skye tried, but her muscles complained at the movement. Her entire body felt stiff, but her neck was the worst.

"Just as I thought. Swallow these." Grey handed her a small plastic beaker containing two white pills. "They're just painkillers," he elaborated when she looked suspicious. "I'm a doctor, I'm not gonna poison you. Are you more of a cooling person or do you want heat?"

"I'll have the ice pack." Skye brushed her hair out of the way and put it on the back of her neck. It felt so soothing that she closed her eyes for a second. When she opened them again, the doctor was out of sight, and when she called after him all she got in return was the sound of a heavy door closing.

/\/\/\/\

It was half past ten in the morning in Las Vegas, but inside the Petrossian Bar at the Bellagio the time of day wasn't that important. Drinks were passed over the bar almost non-stop, including the third Martini for a woman simply known as Sheila, who was currently on IMF's watchlist of potential informants.

The man buying those drinks for her seemed to be thoroughly enjoying his task, making her laugh as if he had all the time in the world. Even the bartender had succumbed to his charm and was on the verge of handing out the next drink for free.

Through the bustle of the bar, a waiter was making his way towards the pair of Sheila and her latest suitor, carrying a tray with an almost ridiculous air of purpose.

"Sir?"

"Yessss," Connor turned around cheerfully.

"There's a call for you." The waiter blinked at a phone in the middle of the round black platter, so polished that Connor could see his reflection in it as he picked up the device.

"Thanks," he said, but the waiter had already disappeared in direction of the slot machines. "Excuse me for a second," he said to Sheila and brought the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"Voice print confirmed," an automated voice said, then changed to another, more human one. "Good morning, Agent Mathison."

Connor kept his relaxed posture as if it was nothing, but turned away from Sheila. "Sure, tell me all about it," he said cheerfully.

She rolled her eyes and ordered another drink.

"An hour ago a plane holding three IMF agents and one prisoner crashed near Area 51. We are currently unaware whether there are any survivors, however we need an insider in the military base to report to and possibly recover any survivors. The prisoner is Calvin Asher, a former agent and to be considered extremely dangerous. From the received transmission it is likely he caused the crash. We've included said transmission here. You have full support from Washington on this one. Do whatever you consider necessary. A car is waiting outside.

"Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to infiltrate Groom Lake Military Base and bring in whoever you find there. As always, should you, in the course of your mission, be caught or killed, the secretary will disavow any knowledge of your actions. Good luck, Agent Mathison."

The voice switched back to the automated one. "Transmission Zero Four N216. Authorised."

Connor swallowed, and concentrated on blocking out the laughter and noise of the casino around him.

That was Megan's voice, shouting what was going on, followed by three gunshots.

Someone shouted – Casey - then more voices. _This wasn't our agreement._

And then his heart froze when he heard his best friend's voice. He couldn't make out the words, Skye must be in the passenger area.

"Casey, you bastard..." Connor murmured. His hand curled into a fist.

There was another gunshot and he heard a scream.

Connor closed his eyes tightly. "It's not her," he whispered. "Keep it together."

Now there were words, clearly audible. The party had moved to the cockpit.

Connor listened. And as he continued to listen, something inside him froze and seemed to solidify his innards. On the third _Mayday_ his fist hit the bar. An olive was catapulted out of a glass. Sheila shrieked when drops of Martini sprayed everywhere.

"You're fine. You're fine," he repeated under his breath without really noticing. "You can do it." Then he remembered that this had already happened. That this wasn't a live connection, Skye couldn't hear him. For a second it had felt so surreal, like a movie he was watching, expecting a good outcome. But the plane had already crashed. He closed his eyes again, just listening to her voice. _Ground Control, please respond._

Yes, _please_ respond. How could they not respond, why would anyone in their right mind not respond to a mayday call, to _Skye's_ mayday call?

He flinched at the noise of the impact. Screaming metal, rushing so loud that he held the phone an inch away from his hear.

Connor waited. Waited for sound. Any sound. Skye's voice.

"This message will self-destruct in five seconds."

Connor stared straight ahead as he lowered the phone from his ear.

"Baby, you okay? You're chalk-white," Sheila said, and already motioned to the bartender for another drink.

Her expression changed to shocked when Connor stood up, drowned the phone in her Martini and left her sitting at the bar.

/\/\/\/\

"We checked with Los Angeles, they headed out from there this morning bound for Washington D.C.," Sergeant Currie said.

"I hope you kept things discreet," General Walton grumbled.

"Of course, sir. Routine enquiry about an aircraft passing nearby. Just confirming everything's in order."

The general sighed. "So what have we got?"

"The plane is listed with a private owner whose name can't be disclosed without making things official. But we have the name of the woman. Skye Holt."

"What's she supposed to be, English?"

"She's Danish, but has American citizenship."

"Married someone?"

"No, sir. Says here that she works for an insurance company in D.C. Handles international relations."

Walton raised his eyebrows. "And why is there some East coast secretary crashing planes onto my grounds?" His voice was ringing with such fierceness, he might as well have stabbed him with a venomous blade.

Currie swallowed. "I don't... know, sir."

"And you're positive she was the one flying the plane?"

"Yes, sir."

This was frustrating. "What do we know about the others?"

"Not much, sir," he admitted. "The other woman was dead when we found her. Shot in neck and head. One man was thrown out of the plane when the wing came off and probably died from the impact of the fall, although he does have a gunshot wound to the stomach. The other man was unconscious when we arrived, shot in the shoulder. We can't find anything on either of them, but they're still going through the wreckage, so..."

"What the hell happened up there, everyone shot, I don't like it," the general grumbled. "What about the beacon?"

Currie shifted uncomfortably. "We still can't figure it out. We can't switch it off, it's still transmitting the location signal. We're working on destroying it, but we have to consider that the signal was already received."

"You think this was planned?"

"I cannot say, sir," the sergeant admitted.

Walton sighed. "You said we have footage of the crash?"

"Yes, sir. Reeves dispatched a drone the second he had the craft's position."

"Show me."

The footage was of a high resolution, just a little shaky. The drone almost didn't arrive in time to film the plane. There was a wide panorama of desert terrain, scattered with a few larger rocks here and there. Then it happened.

It came in fast, proceeded by its shadow on the ground, and at an angle so steep that it looked almost cartoonish, like it was going to hit the ground smack-down and end up with a crumpled nose, half buried in the ground. But it didn't come to that.

In the last second the trajectory changed and the nose tilted upwards. Then it was already on the ground. The wheels came off the second they made contact, ripped away by the speed. They smashed into the fuselage twice before cartwheeling into the distance. Immense clouds of dust were hurled up, and the drone climbed in height to avoid them.

The plane kept sliding, still with immense speed, bumped hard onto the rocky ground and bounced up once before hitting again.

Then it hit the rock formation. It cut through the metal plating like a knife through warm butter, and the left wing came off along with parts of the hull plating, joining the wheels in the distance. By now it was hard to see clearly because of all of the dust. The fuselage tilted to the side, away from the rock formation, and the right wing scraped the ground. It was dragging, Walton realised, that was why the plane was finally slowing down. It passed the drone, the view of which kept following it, but the drone itself remained where it was hovering.

Some way off in the distance, the plane stopped sliding and stopped in its track, oddly diagonal with one wing on the ground and one missing. The dust settled, and the general turned away.

This crash wasn't staged. It was a miracle anyone had survived. Even the two who hadn't had not died because of the crash. He needed to talk to this pilot. Find out who she worked for.

"We have satellite images, too," Currie said eagerly, mistaking the general's silence for disapproval.

That moment a lieutenant burst into the room.

"Sir," he panted. "We have Washington on the line. They want to talk to you."


	6. Chapter 6

Yusuf felt vaguely stressed. He worried that Connor would overreact and do something stupid. It was the not-knowing that was killing him, personally. Maybe Brassel was right to assume the worst from the start, that Laurie's entire team had in fact been killed. But he wasn't sure how to communicate that to Connor Mathison, who was suspiciously calm ever since they had the comm link set up. Then again the field agent was currently preoccupied cruising at top speed through the desert.

"You have the scrambler, right?" Yusuf made sure.

" _For the second time, yes."_

"Good. Switch it on before you even get there. Just put it in your pocket, and leave it switched on at all times."

"I got the satellite images you wanted," someone suddenly said next to him. "Sorry it took so long. We had to wait until the sat was in position to get good quality."

Yusuf looked up to see Benji Dunn, presenting a small stack of picture. He took the hard copies from the other techie. "Thanks."

"I e-mailed you the digital ones," the Brit added.

Yusuf was confused. "There's more than one?"

"Well, I figured you wanted all there is, and the debris is kind of evenly spread over a few miles. And if you want details, like you said you did, then you have to zoom in to a certain point, and then it gets impossible..."

Yusuf had zoned out of his colleague's babbling spree. The image he was looking at showed the Cessna with a gaping hole in its side where the left wing should have been. He could even make out the seats inside.

"...is actually way off from the base, but the beacon is in the main building, so they must have brought it inside. They have people out there, going at the wreck, you can see them in the pictures – are you all right?"

Yusuf tore away from the image. Benji still stood in front of him. "It's one of ours."

"Oh," he said and frowned.

"Thanks, Benji. Ace hacking job." Yusuf left him standing and went to his computer. "Math, you still there?"

" _Yeah. I heard. It's bad, isn't it?"_

Yusuf combed nervously through his black curls. "Doesn't have to mean anything. But... maybe prepare for-"

" _You leave that to me, okay?"_

"Yeah. Yeah, sorry. I'm sending you the images as we speak. Drive safe."

/\/\/\/\

After being left alone, Skye had taken to inspecting her room. Everything looked sporadic yet effective. A simple hospital room, probably for patients in isolation. She had changed into the black shirt and camouflage trousers provided for her. They fit surprisingly well. Her own clothes were dusty, sweat through and full of Megan's blood. Skye was glad to get out of them. The only thing she kept were her sneakers.

The uniform confirmed her suspicion of what this place was, but the doctor had been right – there was no escaping this room. The door was solid and locked. There were no windows, and while she could probably have reached the air vent near the ceiling by climbing onto the bed, it was too narrow for her to climb through.

So she had no choice but to wait. After half an hour she swallowed the second painkiller. The thought that Asher was out there somewhere was slowly driving her crazy, and she was close to kicking something in frustration when the door finally opened. Dr. Grey entered.

"The general wants to talk to you," he informed her.

Closely behind him followed a man in full uniform, followed by another man who matched Skye's current outfit. The latter remained by the door. Grey leaned against the wall facing Skye's bed. The general planted himself in front of the woman.

"That was a frankly impressive landing, Miss Holt."

If she was surprised that her name was known to him, she didn't even bat an eyelid. "Are you in charge?"

"I am," he said, slightly annoyed that she disregarded what he'd said so completely. "I'm General Walton. Can you identify the bodies?"

"Can I see them?"

Walton exchanged a glance with Grey, who shrugged in return. "No."

"What about the man? You said he was okay, is he locked up as well?"

"He's not your concern at the moment, Miss Holt."

Skye stood her ground. "He is my every concern. You have no idea what he is capable of."

"Answer my question." General Walton folded his hands behind his back. "Please."

Skye sighed imperceptibly, and made a decision. "The woman's name is Megan Laurie. Along with her and Jake Casey I was part of an operation to bring Calvin Asher in for questioning. He was found in a Chinese cartel selling highly classified information to foreign operatives. We don't know why he did this, but the point is that he's charged with committing treason against this country." Skye scanned his face for information, for any sort of reaction, but no such thing was visible. "I have no reason to lie to you," she went on. She never broke eye contact and kept her body language open. She had contemplated adopting an American accent – _we're all on the same side_ – but the doctor had already heard her crisp British, so that chance had been missed.

Dr. Grey crossed his arms sceptically.

Walton inhaled. "Are you aware where you are right now?"

"Nevada," she answered, then added, "One of the military bases. I don't know, I was preoccupied with landing a plane with a lunatic on board."

"You are currently on the compounds of U.S. Military Base Groom Lake."

"Groom Lake," Skye repeated. Then she closed her eyes for a second as she understood.

"Area 51," Grey said casually.

Walton continued. "You just as much as admitted that you were part of a special task force bringing in a traitor. Then you just _happen_ to crash on one of the country's most secured facilities, and everyone who could back up that story happens to be dead. Killed, to be precise. As far as I'm concerned you might as well have shot all three of 'em."

Skye shook her head. "He shot Laurie. I shot him. Casey got caught in the crossfire. Check the plane's CVR, it's all there."

"Your blackbox is still missing," the general said. The commanding tone was imprinted on his diction.

Skye sighed imperceptibly. "I am most certainly not here by choice, if that's what you're implying. Let me call my contacts."

"We've already been in touch with someone who claims to be a contact, but who fails to back up anything with hard facts." He hesitated a beat. "Who are you?"

Skye could see there was more to it. He had flinched when he mentioned the contact. So she had back-up, in some way at least. Skye took a gamble. "Who would you send to catch a spy?"

 _A better spy,_ Walton thought, but instead of saying it he met her eyes. Light brown eyes, a sort of hazel that didn't know if it wanted to be green or not. The woman held his gaze mercilessly. "Are you trying to tell me, Miss Holt, that you are a spy yourself?"

"I'm not trying to tell you anything. I'm simply suggesting that you should at least find the blackbox and draw your own conclusions."

The general held her gaze for a second, then he looked at the lieutenant at the door, who now approached them. He took her wrist and before Skye could do anything, he had closed the handcuffs around it again.

"Do you feel threatened?" she asked calmly.

"No, Miss Holt. But all I know is I have two strangers on my base telling completely different stories. So excuse my measures if I act accordingly."

"I can only hope you're being equally paranoid with him. He's received special training. He is bound to try to talk his way into your head."

Walton raised his eyebrows. "I assume the same applies to you?"

"Do not trust him," she said.

The general looked her over for a long moment, then addressed the lieutenant again. "You stay with her."

The response was immediate. "Yes, sir."

"Grey, you're with me."

The doctor did not reply, but followed nevertheless.

Once again, the door was closed in Skye's face.

/\/\/\/\

A Land Rover was driving up to the checkpoint with considerable speed, tearing a trail of dust through the hot air. The soldier manning the entry that day couldn't quite believe his eyes when he saw the man lower his sunglasses at the security camera. Despite being in uniform, he didn't look like their usual clientele out here.

"Yo," he called out. "Take me to your leader."


	7. Chapter 7

"You're quite serious about this standing-guard-thing, aren't you?" Skye leaned back onto her pillow, as casually as possible while handcuffed to the bed.

The lieutenant looked at her, then back ahead. His eyes were the only thing that moved.

The agent scrutinised him. His skin was the colour of coffee with a dash of milk. He looked tall, quite handsome in his black shirt and green camo-trousers. His hair was cropped short, and he stood stock-still. She knew he had a key to her cuffs, and she hadn't heard Walton and Grey lock the door behind them. If she could get this guy to come over to her she was practically out of here.

"If I say 'at ease', will you relax?"

"I have my orders," he finally replied.

"You were on the radio," Skye realised when she heard his voice.

He looked mildly surprised, but quickly covered it up. "Yes."

She didn't give in to the urge to tell him what it had felt like when someone told you to stand by during a crash. "What's your name?" she asked instead. When he didn't answer she added, "I just thought, as we seem to be stuck here for a bit. I'm Skye. As in 'crashing out of the'." The agent looked at him directly.

He shifted. It was a subtle movement that could have easily been missed.

"Fine," she said nonchalantly, as if she didn't really care after all.

"Lieutenant Reeves."

She looked back at him. Her eyes were the only thing that moved.

"Adrian Reeves."

Skye smiled.

Then his radio crackled.

"Sir?" Reeves straightened as if his superior was actually in the room with them.

" _Clockwork is recovered."_

"Copy," Reeves answered.

"What does it mean?" she asked.

He hesitated, then he answered, "They found your blackbox."

/\/\/\/\

The man parading into Walton's office like he owned the place was in full dress uniform. "I understand there was a plane crash here. Washington sent me, I need to know if there are any survivors."

Not even a question. Just a statement. The general didn't like it. "I don't know who you think you are, but I do know I'm not authorised to tell you anything that's going on on this base."

Walton had just been informed that the Cessna's blackbox had been recovered. He had just heard the recording for the first time and wanted to go over it again. Also he needed to reach Grey, fast.

"Please. I had the satellite images on my desk before you did."

Walton looked up from the phone he already had in his hand. For a second, the general faltered. "Satellite - that's impossible."

Connor grinned uninhibited, took out his mobile and opened the image that showed the plane's interior in high definition. He showed it to Walton and enjoyed his disbelieving expression. The agent pocketed the phone again. "What, because we don't have the same haircut, is that it? You think because you're sitting on a stack of folders labelled Top Secret you're something special? Because your little party here operates on a black budget?" Connor stepped forward and leaned onto the desk, effectively being on eye level. "You have no idea what secret even _means_. There was a wanted fugitive on that plane and I need to know if he's on this base."

Walton put his phone back on his desk. "There were two survivors, both of whom are currently in the care of my medical staff."

"You're gonna let me talk to them."

"And what makes you think so, son?"

"We're on the same side, General. And we both want to keep this confidential. Because if it comes out that you stood in the way of a covert operation of bringing a known traitor to justice, it's not me who's in trouble."

Walton had about enough. "Who the hell are you people?"

"I can vouch for Agents Laurie, Holt, and Casey. You will let them go. If Asher is in your custody, I need you to hand him over to me. Now."

"And I need you to cut down on that tone of yours, son. I don't have anything to prove to you."

Connor straightened up again. "Does the Cephalus Mission mean anything to you?" he asked nonchalantly.

The general swallowed, and with it all the colour seemed to be drained from his face. "Don't you think that's a bit above your pay grade, son?"

Connor smirked at the general's attempt to retain his attitude from a minute ago, which was, of course, doomed to fail. "That was me. Look me up. Captain Connor Mathison, eight years of military service, Silver Star, Army Distinguished Service Cross, I could go on, left the Armed Forces honourably when a better offer came around after Cephalus," he recounted. "So let me put it this way. Everything that's happening right now is way above _your_ pay grade. So why don't we just cut the money talk, or else I'll have the White House on the phone like this." Connor snapped his fingers. "And if I may, sir, if you plan on causing any more difficulties I'm gonna have you removed, because I think we all have better things to do than wasting our time here. Now," he turned to the door, "where did you say they were?"

The general's face displayed no emotion any more. He addressed Currie, who, to his dismay, had witnessed Mathison's speech. "Take him to the woman. I have to make a phone call."

"Yes, sir," the underling said dutifully.

Connor smiled and turned to the door. "One more thing," he then added without turning around again. "Call me son one more time and see what happens. _Sir_."

/\/\/\/\

There was a sound outside the door. Skye, lying on the bed, raised her head. Then, she heard a mechanical click, and the door swung open. Reeves straightened even more than the agent had thought possible.

A man entered, not bothering with closing the door behind him. She almost hadn't recognised him at first. He was wearing the dark, decorated jacket and blue trousers of a US army dress uniform, which suited him but clashed with his relaxed posture. The corresponding cap was tucked under his arm, which revealed the most off-putting factor: His hair was in order. It lay as flat against his head as its volume would allow, which she had never seen before. It made him look weirdly grown up.

He barely cast a glance on her and focused on Reeves, giving him a quick once-over. "Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir," he said loudly, only just this side of shouting. Behind his back, Skye rolled her eyes.

"You got a name?"

"Reeves, sir. Lieutenant-" Reeves was about to say more, but he was cut off.

"You're dismissed," the newcomer said calmly, almost bored.

Not missing a beat, a "Yes, sir!" followed and they were alone.

The door fell shut. The man turned to Skye, now a huge smile on his face.

"Did someone call for a Connor?"

Skye tried hard not too tell him that she had never been so glad to see him. Instead she smiled, sat up and waved her cuffed hand. "Yeah, I called like an hour ago. You should really rethink your customer service."

Connor smirked. "I gotta say, this is by far the coolest thing you've ever got us into, Skye T."

"This is the only thing _I'm_ responsible for getting us into."

Connor reached into his inside jacket pocket and unearthed a needle-like tool. While opening the handcuffs, he kept talking. "Fucking Area 51, this is awesome! We should have done this sooner! We could open literally _any_ door and find an alien!" He caught her slightly exasperated glance. "Don't worry, I got Yusuf in my ear and a scrambler in my pocket, we're safe from Big Brother as it is. What's that?" Connor tapped his ear in an unnecessary gesture. "Oh, he wants to know if you're all right."

"I'm fine, _thanks_ , Yusuf. Do you have a plan to get out, too?"

He smirked. "Way ahead of you. I got a sweet Land Rover parked outside. Don't I look sharp? Uniform still fits."

It could not be ignored any longer. "What's happened to your hair?"

He scowled slightly. "He made me do that. Apparently I can't be taken seriously without a tube of gel on my head."

Skye rubbed her newly freed wrist. "I don't know how anybody can ever take you seriously. How did you find me?"

"You're my mission. Megan pressed the panic button and activated the beacon, and I was in the area."

She suddenly got serious. "Meg and Casey are dead."

"I know. What the hell happened up there?"

"I..." Out of nowhere, Skye felt the breakdown coming. For a second she felt like she was back on the plane and crashing again, only then there was Connor's hand on her shoulder to break her mental fall.

"You okay?"

She nodded. "It was Asher. He killed them."

"HQ got the transmission from your blackbox. I think I can imagine what went down there." He let go of her shoulder, scrutinised her. "You need a hug?"

Skye did need a hug, but if she got sentimental now there would be no turning back. Energetically, she shook her head. "How did you get in?"

Connor made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "You just gotta know how to talk to these people. I threw the White House job in their faces and they started drooling. I'll tell you later. For now let's get this bastard Asher and hit the road."

The door flew open and Reeves burst back into the room. He flinched under Connor's stern glance, but spoke up nevertheless. "General Walton wants you to come with me. The other one – he's gone."


	8. Chapter 8

Skye and Connor followed to another sickbay in a different part of the base. Walton stood at the door. It was the first time that Skye saw more than three people at once since she got here. Medical personnel was swarming around a daybed. It was Grey.

"What happened?" Skye asked at once.

"We heard your CVR's recording. Grey must have let him catch on that we know, he must have attacked him." He looked at Skye. "I must apologise-"

"Forget that now, we need to find him," she replied quickly. "Can we get some guns?"

Walton nodded. "Reeves."

Reeves disappeared between the commotion.

"We need access to your security," Connor stated, rubbing his ear.

Walton looked outraged. "Now hold on, this is still a top secret government facility, we can't just allow some nobody to walk around as he pleases."

Skye sharply sucked in air.

Connor turned dramatically around to her. "Did you hear what he just said to me?"

"I heard him," Skye nodded gravely.

"What should I do about that?"

"I think you need to change your tone a bit."

Connor sighed, and turned back around. "Listen up, asshole. The guy killed two of my people, almost killed you medic, and is now armed and on the loose in your oh-so-secret base. Let us fucking catch him and we promise not to steal your alien. How you like me now?"

/\/\/\/\

The cameras didn't cover everything, mainly just corridors, but thanks to Yusuf's expertise on the other end of the continent they had found their target in a matter of minutes. Instead of taking cover in some room, Asher had managed to make his way to the other end of the base. Walton and Reeves were right behind the agents.

" _He just went through there,"_ Yusuf confirmed. _"He's in the hall ahead of you, but I can't see him any more."_

"He went this way," Connor passed on, and motioned towards the end of a corridor.

"What's through there?" Skye asked.

"The flight hall," Walton said. "We'll split up. Reeves and I know this base better than you. We'll circle round him."

"Fine," Connor agreed, sick of wasting time.

"Don't shoot him," Skye said. "Under no circumstances he can be killed."

"Understood," Reeves said.

Walton briefly stared at him, then motioned him to leave in the opposite direction.

Connor and Skye pushed open the door in front of them. They were looking at a massive hall, filled with rows upon rows of fighter jets. A walkway with a balustrade ran across the length of three walls. The fourth wall appeared to consist of large gates, all of which were closed. It was gloomy. Natural light was coming in from narrow windows above the gates, which stood in poor competition to the base's neon fixtures.

Connor scanned at least three generations of F16s, along with some aircraft that looked strange and unfamiliar. Probably prototypes on site for testing, but there was no time to inspect them further. The problem was that there were hundreds of hiding places. From their elevated position on the walkway, the hall seemed deserted.

Skye was already making her way down a metal staircase to their left. It was the only way Asher could have taken; they would have seen him at once if he went along the walkway. She had her gun at the ready. It was annoying her that she still couldn't turn her head without considerable pain, but she knew Connor had her back.

The F16s loomed over them like menacing birds. Motionless, as if they were waiting for something. Skye glanced through wheels and shadows cast by the wingspans, trying to make out a figure, detect a movement, when Connor suddenly bolted past her. She sharply turned her head – and winced in pain. Goddamn whiplash. She saw her friend rush up the boarding ladder of a fighter jet two rows over.

"What you wanna do now, Asher, fly out in this baby?" she heard his voice.

"Stay out of this, Mathison."

There he was, they had him. On top of a freaking jet. As soundlessly as she could, Skye approached the craft.

"This ends right here," Connor said and cocked his gun.

Skye heard him walking above, heavy boots on the gleaming grey wingspan. She had reached the ladder and took her first step. There was commotion above her, but she couldn't look up yet and if she called out she would give herself away. There was still the possibility that Asher had not seen her.

The entire jet trembled when something heavy fell hit the wing full on. A body?

Skye pushed herself up. The surface was narrower than she'd thought.

Connor cursed. Asher had been on the opposite wing, and when he'd attempted to breach the distance between them he had slipped on the curvature of the cockpit's rear end like an idiot. Asher had of course acted as any trained agent would.

So when Skye climbed on top of the wing, she saw Connor with his back to their target, close enough that it was impossible to shoot one without hitting the other. There was a bloodstain on Asher's shirt where the bullet had pierced his shoulder, but that didn't prevent him from keeping Mathison in place. He had his gun across his throat, strangling him while using him as a shield at the same time. One miniature movement and he could angle the firearm upwards against the agent's chin and shoot.

"Asher," Skye said.

He looked over. It was impossible to say if he was surprised. There was no trace of emotion on his face. "Drop your gun," he said quietly.

Connor struggled for oxygen, trying to get a strong enough grip on Asher's wrist, but it was useless. With minimal effort he could tighten his grip and block his windpipe completely.

Skye lowered her weapon, but didn't put it away. Instead her arms hung by her sides, the gun level with her right thigh. But the anger had vanished. She looked resigned, almost sad. Disappointed. "Why are you doing this?" she asked, and sounded like a parent desperate to understand her child. She motioned at Connor. "What has he done to you? What's Megan done to you?"

For a second Connor thought she was about to cry, but when he squinted to look at her face she looked perfectly in control. He didn't understand what she was doing. This was against every strategy when talking someone out of shooting the hostage. But Asher knew those by heart just like them, so maybe breaking with protocol was the smartest move after all.

"What has IMF done to you?" Skye broke eye contact now, flicked the safety catch back on and tucked the gun into the back of her belt. The movement disguised the tiniest step forward.

 _What the hell are you doing?_ Connor tried to communicate, but she just looked back at Asher.

He took a full five seconds until he spoke. "You want to know what IMF did to me..." he began. "What the Impossible Mission Force did to me." He laughed dryly, never taking the gun from Connor's throat. " _Agent_ Megan Laurie chose to accept an assassination job," he said, using the vocabulary with pronounced disgust. "She never questioned the assignment, carried it out with precision and returned to D.C. two kills richer. Those people were my parents."

"I don't understand," Skye said. She shrugged and shuffled another miniature step closer.

Connor made a gurgling noise. He tried not to struggle. The gun was blocking his throat. But as long as Skye kept him talking he was alive, so he wouldn't complain.

"You don't understand. Of course. You're naïve, Holt. You all are, and I envy you for it. They do it to the best of us, all the way up to Ethan Hunt. They want us to play like we have nothing left to lose, because that's an agent at his best in their eyes. Nothing to force our hand with, no leverage. So they take it from us before anyone else can."

Skye was shaking her head, disbelieving.

"Do you have family?" Asher asked.

Connor's eyes were tearing up. He needed to breath properly, but the gun was unrelenting. He hoped their telepathy worked. _Don't let him get to you, Skye T._

"Yes," Skye answered.

"Then they'll do the same to you, believe me. You're on your way up, Holt."

"I don't know anything about Megan's mission. I'm sorry you lost your family. But I can't believe there wasn't more to it."

"Of course you can't!" Asher laughed out loud. "Because you're blind. They recruit you young so that they can brainwash you into thinking how great their agency is."

"That's not true," Skye said calmly, and edged closer still. She could have reached out and touched Connor by now. Sweat plastered his dishevelled hair to his forehead.

"Isn't it? When were you recruited? How old were you?"

"Twenty-one," Skye replied truthfully.

"See? See? You think you're working for the good guys, aren't you?"

"I'm not the one who would have sold us off to China," Skye said.

 _Tread carefully,_ Connor thought.

Asher just huffed. "I could have gone to anyone. China, Russia, doesn't matter, it's all the same."

Skye nodded as if she understood. "You just cared about the damage."

"Stay where you are," Asher said suddenly and pulled Connor closer.

Skye glanced up at the walkway and stopped. "You need help, Asher," she said quietly.

"You think I don't see your friend over there with the sniper rifle? I can _feel_ the red dot on my head."

"They won't shoot you. Not unless I say."

"Oh, so they put you in charge, did they." Abruptly he let go off Connor by kicking the back of his knee. He buckled forwards, landed on his knees and coughed for oxygen. Asher put the gun against his temple, ready to pull the trigger.

"Asher," Skye said calmly. "Don't do it."

He was shaking now.

"Cal," she emphasized.

Connor was still on his knees and hence didn't see what happened. Just felt that Skye suddenly sprinted past him, heard that Asher cried out, and then a gunshot.

When Connor spun around, he was alone on the wing.


	9. Chapter 9

"Skye T?" Connor called out, lowering himself from the F16. For a split second he hung by his arms, then let himself drop to the concrete floor. It was maybe three metres to the ground.

"Get over here," she replied.

Asher was lying on his back, the gun out of reach several metres away. Skye had already scrambled to her feet and was holding him in place. He seemed dazed and was definitely in pain, but despite the unexpected fall when Skye had pushed him off the edge, he had landed professionally. Decades of training were hard to get rid of.

Skye had landed half on top of him, effectively cushioning her fall, then rolled gracefully.

"You okay?" Connor still had to make sure as he took over, turning Asher onto his stomach, arms behind his back.

Skye checked her left arm, which stung faintly. The skin from her wrist up to her elbow was grazed where it had scraped along the concrete, but the injury was superficial. "All good," she said.

General Walton joined them from between the rows of fighter jets, closely followed Reeves. The latter looked flustered and handed Connor a pair of handcuffs, which the agent skilfully attached to Asher's wrists. Then he dragged him to his feet.

Skye meanwhile turned to the general. "Are you out of your mind?" she hissed before Walton could get one word out.

"Miss Holt, I have to-"

"It's Agent Holt," Skye said. "You are aware that I could see you, right, or are you actually that thick?"

The general was speechless, Reeves appeared stunned as well in regard of her language.

"I saw you pulling the trigger." Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "From your position you would not only have killed him, you would have shot Mathison as well."

Connor looked at her in surprise, then at Walton.

"Great service to your country that would have been," she spat. Connor could feel how much she had to pull herself together not to become downright insulting or physically violent. "I can guarantee you this will all be in my report. Hardly worth a promotion."

Walton swallowed.

/\/\/\/\

"You need to work on your anger management," Connor said, trying to lighten the mood as they were waiting in the sickbay. Asher had been sedated, but Skye wouldn't let him out of her sight. The sweepers had arrived, taking care of the wreckage, the impounded evidence and the bodies. They would take Asher on a high-security plane. IMF wasn't prone to making the same mistakes twice. The former agent would not be underestimated again.

"I can't take three in one day, Connor," Skye said without looking at him. She was turning over Megan's sunglasses in her hand.

He bit his lip, and nodded.

Skye signed Asher over to the head of the sweeper's team.

"You fly with us?" he asked.

"No. I'm going with Mathison. We'll meet you back in D.C."

"Okay," he answered. "Good work, Agent Holt."

Skye nodded at him and watched as they escorted a dazed Asher towards the exit.

Lieutenant Reeves appeared in front of them. "I've been informed that our superiors will organise what will happen to your plane."

"Good, because that would have got a bit crammed in the car," Connor replied. He got no reaction, and sighed. No sense of humour, these people. He was glad to be out of there. "What about your doc?"

"Doctor Grey is gonna be fine. I can escort you out."

Skye and Connor followed through the corridors. Connor couldn't help it. "Be honest with me, though, that's not the only wreckage you've ever hauled in here, am I right?"

Reeves kept walking, unfazed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Course you don't," the agent smirked. "That's all I needed to hear."

/\/\/\/\

"Can you pull over?"

Connor looked to his right, at Skye, then back ahead. The street was deserted, so he slowed down and simply stopped in the middle of the road.

Skye unbuckled her seat belt, just sat there for a second, then got out of the car.

Concerned, Connor followed. Skye was leaning against the side of the car that was in shadow, breathing deeply. He groped in his pockets for his Zippo and cigarettes, then shook out two from the pack of Camel. "Calm the nerves a bit?"

"Thanks," she said in a small voice. "I must have left mine on the plane."

Connor smiled sympathetically, gave her a light and Skye inhaled deeply. For a while they smoked in agreeable silence.

He spoke up first. "Once we're home I'll get you pizza. And we'll toast to the Megster." He paused, then added, "And Casey."

It meant a lot to her that he included Jake, despite having despised the guy, and apparently with good reason. Knowing that her gratefulness didn't require articulation, she simply nodded.

Connor kept talking to fill the silence. "You remember when I first met Megan, and all I knew was that she's ex-military? And then there she was, in her freaking bomber jacket, back when she had the really long braids."

Skye chuckled at the memory. "I remember. And she just seized you up and said you don't look very brush-cut either."

"First thing you do, you grow your hair out," Connor quoted their friend, nailing her tone of voice. "Wise lady."

Skye's smile faltered. She let go of the cigarette.

Connor crushed it under his shoe. "You know it wasn't clear from the blackbox if any of you had made it." His voice was deeper than usual. "I had a moment where I thought..."

Skye gently nudged his arm.

He exhaled smoke. He wasn't great with these things. "What I'm trying to say is, it's good to still have you here."

Skye took a very deep breath, but couldn't get herself to say anything. Connor knew anyway.

"You want that hug now?"

She nodded, and Connor crushed his own cigarette as well.

"It's gonna be okay," he said quietly, and again Skye could only nod before she started crying against his shoulder. Connor rarely touched people. Not to mention hugging them This was special. This meant a lot.

"If there's something you need me to do you gotta tell me, because I suck at this," Connor whispered while carefully putting an arm around her, not entirely sure where to put his hands.

Despite everything, Skye had to chuckle through the tears. She felt for his hand and put it on her shoulder. He was careful, unsure, and only tightened the embrace when he felt confident it wouldn't hurt Skye. People could feel so breakable sometimes.

"I fucked up up there," she eventually managed to say.

"No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did. I could have shot him."

"You had orders to bring him in for trial. Shooting him wasn't an option."

"So he killed two agents."

"One of which conspired with him."

Skye let out a shaky sigh, letting go of him to wipe the tears away. "I don't even know what to think of that."

Connor sighed too and leaned against the side of the car. "Even I gotta admit, Casey was an asshole, but I wouldn't have thought that he could pull off something like that. Always the ones you least expect."

"He still saved my life," Skye said quietly.

Connor looked at her.

"Asher would have shot me point blank. Casey pushed me out of the way. Took a bullet for it, too."

Connor just huffed. He didn't have anything nice left to say about Jake Casey.

"I was supposed to fly this one," Skye went on. "If I had been in the cockpit, and Megan-"

"Don't even start about that."

"But," Skye began.

"I'm serious, Skye T," he said warningly. "We can't change what happened. The point is that you're still here. Don't start with what-ifs. That's gonna drive you crazy."

Skye looked up at her friend, sniffed for one last time. Then she reached up and mussed his hair. "That's better," she said when it was back to it's usual messiness.

Connor had to laugh. "Right?"

Skye took a deep breath of dry desert air. "You know, when I first met Megan it was for flight training. She took me on a helicopter ride. I'd never been in one before that. And when she saw that I was freaked out, she just looked at me..." Skye swallowed. "She said the key isn't to not look down, but to look down and love it."

/\/\/\/\

"Thanks for coming," Skye said.

"Yeah," Connor said. "Just hate funerals."

"I know."

"Hey," Yusuf joined them. "Am I late?"

"No, they haven't started yet," Skye said. Agents stood alone or in small groups around, talking quietly while waiting. "Good to see you."

"Likewise. I found the report you asked about," the techie said, pushing his thick black glasses up his nose.

"And?" Skye asked in anticipation.

"I couldn't access all of it," he said and paused meaningfully, "but apparently Asher's parents were in witness protection. Their position got compromised and Megan's mission was to move them to a different location."

When he didn't continue, Skye asked, "That's it?"

Yusuf shrugged apologetically. "It just said they were killed during the mission. The who and how is classified."

Connor, who had followed their exchange warily, suddenly looked past them. "Holy shit," he said excitedly and tapped Skye's shoulder. "That's Luther Stickell."

The agent in question was walking up in front of the small crowd gathered.

"The guy who worked with Ethan Hunt on Langley," Connor whispered loudly. "And the Musgrave job."

"I know who he is, keep it together," Skye said.

Connor followed Stickell with his eyes. "Were they friends?"

Skye nodded. "I think so."

The service was an internal affair, so like most of the people that had come, Stickell wasn't wearing a suit, just normal clothes. Maybe he had come straight from HQ, or even a mission. He just stood there for a moment, feeling the attention settle on him. When he spoke, his voice was deep and slightly rough.

"When I offered to contact Megan Laurie's family about what had happened I got the same old answer. That she didn't have any family. I don't know about you, but I can't be the only one of us who can relate to that, and it's always a blow to the head."

Connor looked at his shoes.

"Because someone like Megan deserved a family, and if she didn't even have one, then the ship must have sailed for the rest of us for good, right? But that's not true. Megan did have a family. We are her family. She _made_ us a family. And now we should do her proud by being there for each other." He paused. "Meg saved so many lives. Some of which she might not even be aware of."

Luther Stickell looked at the coffin for a long moment. Then he turned back to the considerable assembly of people. To her surprise, he singled out Skye, steadily holding her gaze.

"She taught us how to fly."

* * *

 _As always, thank you so much for reading my story. I hope you liked it._

 _Cheers also to to Ellster for beta reading._


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